Home
by Allemagne
Summary: He fell out of the azure sky like an angel. Odd way to describe him, really.


Just a warning to all who may take the time to read this story: I wrote this little one-shot YEARS ago, and I'm embarrassingly behind on the One Piece story, so it's probably no longer canon and horribly OOC. I was going through some boxes and found this in an old notebook and sort of liked it, so I figured I might as well post it.

Disclaimer: I own no part of Mr. Oda's creation. Other than this story.

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This is home.

Probably a strange thing to think at a time like this, but…I'm home.

It never really occurred to me that it would end like this. It was both surprising and inevitable.

He fell out of the azure sky that day like an angel. Odd way to describe him, really. I mean, he isn't. He isn't your curly, blonde-haired sort, harp-toting and with eyes that pierce the soul. And yet—he is. An angel disguised under a straw hat and a rubber body.

To this day I don't know why I joined his crew. Sure, there was half of the infamous "One Piece" treasure to consider. But even when we _finally_ found it, he wouldn't allow us to see it—only smiling that big, ridiculous grin and saying that someday we'd understand. As if.

He saved me, too. I can still remember sitting in that cold, hard, unwelcoming wooden chair, endlessly charting and churning out maps. How I cringed, how I cried, but kept writing, even as the feathers of the quill mercilessly rubbed my skin away, layer by painful layer, creating calluses and blisters. The sores on my legs from sitting, unmoving, in a chair for hours on end. Raw elbows from tirelessly moving my small arms quickly across pages of parchment.

And he saved me from all that. He helped me—just because I asked him to. He didn't question me, didn't ask for anything in return except to join him on his journey. To steer the ship to the ends of the world and back.

And somehow, I still don't understand, even now. What benefit would he get from having me around? I always took my anger out on him, and I guess I never truly appreciated him. I found no use for myself other than the path the ship took and to keep the rest of the crew in line.

I still don't know.

I don't know.

I really don't know.

I wanted to make a map of the world so that I would know everything. No blade of grass left untouched, no inch of sea left unknown. And I did. I really did it. I charted it, perfected it, mass-produced it, and sold it for gobs of money. It seems like that's all I've ever wanted. Money doesn't judge you, doesn't give a damn who you are. It gets you what you want.

I wanted to save my town. I wanted it to be the hard-working, but happy place it once was. To do so, I needed money. Therefore, I wanted money. It became a necessity, an addiction. For a long time, money was the only thing I could rely on. The only concrete thing that could always get you out of trouble.

I wanted more and more money. I wanted to map the world, so I joined the crew. My crew. His crew. Maybe I was just using them for my own gain. I wanted to be happy. I wanted to get away. I wanted, I wanted, I want.

I wanted to know everything.

And now, I realize that I know nothing.

I was selfish. I took them all for granted. Every single one of them. I betrayed him. I wasn't strong enough to fight with them. I was never strong enough to accomplish anything on my own. I couldn't even save my own town by myself. They helped me. He helped me.

I always watched as _they_ fought; _they_ got battered and _they_ got beaten. Every one of them was braver than me, tenfold. I was an assistant, a sidekick, even. The one who supports the hero (or heroes, as the case may be) from the shadows as he defeats the newest what's-his-ugly. I was no longer allowed to get hurt, even if I wanted to.

I never went back. Back to Nojiko, Genzo, or the many other people and village I'd left behind. I never went back home.

Because I have a new home now.

Right where I am.

And even though I stand here with the crew, my crew, our crew, his crew, and every other person important to him, be it friend or foe; and even if I can't tell if the people around me—us—are mourning or celebrating; and even though the home, my home that I have come to know and love will be snatched away from me any second now; even if my crew, my friends walk away from me after this moment without a word and never look back, this is fate. It's destiny.

I never used to believe in fate. Never surrendered to the idea that no matter what, you couldn't change the way things were because they were meant to be that way. I believed I could change the world, with just my two hands. That was until I put my trust in the smile that always told you that everything was going to be okay.

But…I will accept this, and move on. Even though I'd give _anything_—my money, my maps, even my precious tangerines—to be the one under the guillotine instead of him. To protect him, as he always protected me.

But, after it falls, I will walk away, and I will shed no tears. I will follow his crew out of the square until we part again, as we most likely will. Maybe I'll give them a wave, the people, my friends who have grown so much. But some things will never change.

And I will walk away, straw hat in hand.

Maybe I'll put it on my wall.


End file.
